Child of the Revolution
by Jules Sab
Summary: (written by leah)This is set a few years before Christian came...It's about a girl's struggle in Paris...
1. Beginnings

My life has been an array of emotion. From my fortunate beginning to my current condition. Can-Can dancing. It's my life. A diamond dog if you will. Created by Harold Zidler. I hadn't always lived this life. Far from it in fact. Here's my story.  
  
Bridget's Story  
  
My Grandfather, Liam Sullivan, came from Ireland to England in search of work. He brought along his young family, his wife, Abigal, son Frank, and daughter Alanna. They were also going to escape the famine. Unlike most, he found work in a coalyard in the coal capital, Newcastle. He worked his way up and became the co-owner. His coalyard was the reason my parents met. My father owned a merchant fleet in Newcastle upon Tyne. He owned quite afew fleets that sailed the North sea for foreign trade. My mother, Alanna, worked in her father's filing room in the coalyard. My father, Tobin Cummings, came in to fill out a shipment of coal for his fleets that were leaving that day. As they say, the rest is history. He saw my mother with "eyes so piercing blue, that they made the water look bleak." Nine months later, I was born, and they were married. We lived prodominately well. Trade was booming and we were all content in our house in the Lake District, boasted the "Best Area in all of Britian." It was about twenty minutes from my father's docks, so he was gone alot of the time. When i was eight, my mother became pregnant. Three days after it was born it died. It had been a boy. His name was Liam, for my grandfather. My mother named us good, Irish names. Mine meant strength. And she constantly said she needed it while i was little. After the death, my mother sunk into a depression. She barely left her rooom and when she did it was for dinner, or for a lonely walk through the garden, reguardless if father or i went with her. A year went by. My father, always trying to please her, came up with the idea of visiting his friend, Pierre Troussent, who owned a vineyard outside Paris. The Troussents lived on 200 acres of land. They grew grapes for wine. And had a good business. I was excited that we were going to board a ferry, not a trade boat of my father's that i went frequently on, but a real ferry to a foreign country! And to Paris! I was nine, and I thought life couldn't get any better. 


	2. Money Issues

They were nice enough people. They had a son. Jacques, that was a year older than I. We were staying in the guest house. My father thought the change would be good for my mother. It unfortunately did the opposite.She'd often have nightmares and fits during the night. After my mother went to sleep peacefully, my father would move his chair out to the balcony. I would get out of my bed next door, and creep up to him. "Is that my pixie I hear?" I'd giggle and clamber up into his lap. The hardships of running a business and caring for a family was taking it's toll on his yet youthful face. He was barely thirty. He had dark circles under his usual cheerful, bright tiger green eyes. He'd smile down at me, and show me the stars and the constallations. "That's Orion the mighty hunter." He'd point out. I'd try to find one before he did. He'd then stroke my hair, while singing soft, Celtic lullabys. He'd done this since I could remember. Even though I was nine, I felt it a necessaity to have a tradition. To make my father that much happier. He'd often tell me stories of my mother during their short courtship. It fascinated me to think of her "very much like you" he'd say. "Eyes so blue. hair so wavy and golden as the summer wheat." Smile so sweet you could melt in it. How she'd traveled all over England and Scotland and Wales. He'd then sigh while thinking of it. He had come from the slums of Scotland. He was British though in everyway, except for his laugh, which was cheerful, like singing. He always had a smile. And unfortunately, he also had the Scottish drinking thirst. It never had been a problem. Till then.  
My mother slowly diminished into simpl a walking, breathing entity. She one day walked outside. I followed her. She turned, and put her hand on my cheek. "I love you, Bridget. I hope that's one thing o fme you know." I gripped her hand. "I love you too, ,mother." She knelt, her white night gown falling into the soft clay mud. We embraced. She tried to back away. I gripped her tighter to me. "I must go Bridget." I slowly let her go. Once more, she cupped my face in her hand. "You're my strength. Always shall be." She said. She opened the gate and simply walked toards the water. They say it was suicide. I say it was something more. Something more sinister. She'd already died along time ago. My father stayed strong. For the both of us. Good thing. I think we kept each other sane. We told my Grandfather what happened. My grandmother had died right before mother. Maybe that's what finally drove my mother to the brink. Back then, I was angry at her for leaving. Now I realize she couldn't deal with problems. It wasn't our fault. Though my father and I blamed ourselves. I didn't know that my mother had suffered four miscarriages after me. That's why it was so depressing when my brother died. My father never stopped blaming himself. My grandfather stayed with us at the vineyard in the guest house. The Troussents had no problem with it. My father sold all the fleets. He collected his money and kept it. He used it for the pub. He frequented there. Late at night, I'd hear him and my grandfather. "It's my fault! If I hadn't gotten her pregnant, we'd never had to of gotten married, and, and, I wouldn't have put her through all of this strife! Not only her, but all of us! Bridget doesn't deserve it! She needs twice the father that I am!" Then he'd sob and my grandfather would consul him. "It's not only his fault." I thought. "I was born. I was the reason my mother never saw the world. Or had as many lovers as there were stars." It left a hole in me. My fahter loved me. He tried extrememely hard. My grandfather died after returning to England during a routine mine check. My father stayed more and more at the taverns and pubs in Paris. I moved into the main house by then. I went to the loval school where I excelled. School was my escape from my hellish nightmare of a life. When I was 13, my nightmares came complete. My father was killed. Caught in the middle of a brawl at the wrong time. He'd gotten shot. Innocently. We (the Troussents and I) went over my money issues. My grandfather's inheritance had gone to my alcoholic Uncle Frank. My father hadn't invested in any stocks or bonds. He'd spent all but 600 francs. When I turned 16 I"d move to the city to make myself a living. I had enough to support me for 6 months without work. I'd have to get a job. Two years passed. Their son had moved out a year ago. To Germany to further his studies of herbology. He'd been my childhood friend. I had friends at school, but he was my true friend. My first kiss. My first love. He had eyes only for me. And he wrote me. Never often enough. When I was sixtenn, I was ready to leave for Paris! The place of dreams! Where you could be a normal person by day and a dreamy Bohemian at night, as I was to find out. 


	3. Le Boarding House

I was ready to leave. Mrs. Troussant kept saying how she wished Jacques was there to see me off. He was taking exams. It was midMarch, and the buds were forming on the trees. Sprouts were growing in the vineyard, and just the day before we'd put out stakes. Jacques and I used to do it, and have mudfights. As I was getting my trunk together, I saw that a letter had come for me from Frankfurt. I immediately grabbed my letter-opener and ran it through the top. I opened it. Dear Bridget, Frankfurt is wonderful. The pubs are rowdy at night, so I study at the local coffee houses. They aren't anything like we're used to! The Germans certainly can't make a decent cup of coffee. I hope things are good at home. I should be home this April, in time for the beautiful blooms. Maybe we can go to Paris for a weekend. We have some issues to discuss. I am anxious to see you. I often think I see you. Just at peculiar moments in my busy day. You'd love the University here! Its you who should be here. Or at least with me. I need to see your face again. I hope you can make a trip here before the harvest. My studies are calling me. Much as my heart is calling me to you.  
your devoted scholar,  
Jacques  
  
I sighed. I needed to see him before i left. I wanted someone to miss me. I knew he did already, but I don't know, just to see him as I left would help this hollowness inside. The French and their obsession with love! Though, I knew I was entranced as well. They saw me to the station. I got onboard, and waved till they were well out of sight. Mrs. Troussant had told me of a bordinghouse to go to. They'd already sent in my letter. So when I got off the train, I was optimistic. Paris was in a deep fog. The men on the train with me had cigars that made me nearly gag. I was really glad to be out of there. I was the only woman in there. I headed for the address written on a piece of paper she'd stuffed onto of my gloves on my trunk. It was hard work lugging around your life in a trunk. I got there, and groaned when i found I had to go up stairs. I did and rang the little bell. A stout woman came and met me at the door. She was all smiles and "Bonjour! What tis your name?" I smiled And said "Bridget Cummings. Monsuier and Madmonselle Troussants told me that you reieved my letter?" She laughed and nodded. She then picked up my trunk with one hand, and led me up the stairs. "My name is Lisette Lejuene. Le petit De'jeuner is at 6o'clock sharp. " She called over her shoulder. I'd have to eat breakfast at 6 in the morning? I never did, even at harvest time! I thought as she showed me my room. She placed it at the foot at the bed. "We mainy have young ladies here. You'll meet them tonight at le diner. It is at 5 o'clock sharp. Extra blankets are in this chest. She pointed to the chest under the windowseat. ""Merci beaucoup." I said. She smiled and went back downstairs. I flung myself down on my bed. And sighed. 


	4. First Night in Paris

I washed my face from the washbasin. I heard the clock in the the cathedrel chiming five o' clock. I ran my fingers through my hair and preceded downstairs, alittle shy. There were about five other girls situiated around the long, oak table. It had been set with a simple blue cloth, and had ten blue china plates resting next to shiny silverware. I was really blown away. I sat down, next to a cheerful girl. Her name, she told me, was Giselle, and she worked at the local pillow factory. She said to not mind the feathers if they fall from her hair. She was really nice. I knew we'd be friends. I told her about myself. She looked at me with her liquid amber eyes intently, listening to my every word. Soon, all the other girls were crowding in while passing bagettes and butter and sausages. They had placed a nice bottle of Charodanny upon the table, and said that I had to do the official wine testing, since I had been raised in a vineyard. I happily obliged, to also help my nerves and to loosen me up. I swirled it in my glass, and took a generous swallow. It was really good. The perfect time to drink it. I said. They all then had a glass and preceeded in telling me of where it came from, when I asked. There was a bottling company right down the road that just opened. They were looking for people to work there. I instantly asked them to tell me more. I wanted to work there. I had to work there.  
  
That night, I went to bed very late. I wrote a quick note to Jacques. I was curious about what he wanted to talk to me about. He said it was important. I rubbed my neck and looked at the clock. It was midnight! I quickly doused the lamp, and pulled down my sheets. I got in, and prayed about my condition. And for the Lord to help me find a new life in Paris. It was then that I realized it was a full moon. I got out of bed and went down the hall, got to the end, threw apart the french double doors, and stood looking at the sky. The breeze that was blowing was coming across as chilly, but with the warm fragrance of spring in the air. I shut them behind me, sighed and looked above and below me. There were couples, strolling along the street. I sighed, envious of them. I could just picture me as one of them, delicately leaning on a gentleman's arm. I looked at the sky and pulled my white shawl that had been my mother's tighter around me, wrapping them like arms. 'Look Bridget! See that star! aren't they beautiful? Mother's up there. Looking at us, see her twinkling at us?' My father's voice blew to me on the wind. "yes father. i see it. and yours too." I then went in, shut the doors behind me, and slipped into bed. 


	5. Jobs

A few months passed. I had a job at the local coffehouse. I was going to go to the Bottling Company for a job, but it would require all my time. And I only worked at the coffehouse for a few hours aweek. When my money resources ran low, and tips wouldn't help me survive, I'd go see about a full time job. I was going to have to do it soon. My money supply was deminishing each week. Good thing I wasn't having to buy my own food. Just pay for food and lodging at the end of each month. And it was expensive! Jacques had telegramed me to say he was coming in a few weeks. I was very excited. He wanted to discuss something with me, and I was eager to know what it was all about. I left alittle earlier from the coffeehouse. I was going to the Bottling Company to see about a job. I walked in and was greeted by a stern, stout man about forty, with grey hair. He peered at me from over his spectacles. He had been reading the Gazette. Maybe I had come at the wrong time. "May I help you, Madmoiselle?" He said in broken English. "Um, yes, I was here to apply for a job." I said. "Ah." He said, sitting up. "Well, what do you know about wine?" "I know alot." I said. I walked over to a wine rack. I began going into a brief discription about each one, red and white. He was impressed. "Well, how good are you with dealing with customers?" "Come again?" I said. I was certain that I'd have to work in the bottling room. "With customers. Can you fill out orders? I need someone behind the desk. I can't be in a million places at once." He said, motioned to where he had been sitting. " I think i can handle it." I said. "Good. It's refreshing to see someone who knows wine." He said. "You start tomorrow." "Tomorrow?" I asked. "Yes, tomorrow." He said. "Thank you very much Monsueir." I said, grasping for the door handle. "You're welcome. I didn't catch your name." "Bridget sir. Bridget Cummings." "Well, Bridget I hope you like working here. Good day."  
  
I woke up early. I was to be there at seven. I went downstairs and ate breakfast. Just Giselle and I. The other girls had already left. They went to the factories at five. I was sort of nervous. "You'll do well." She said. I sighed. "I hope so." I walked down the road, passing flower and newspaper carts. Every once in awhile I'd pass groups of Troubodors. True musicians at their craft. I headed for the docks. The bottling company was near the water. I walked in, the bell twinkling behind me. "Ah, Bridget! Today will be quite a busy day! And I know it's your first, so this will be a test. If you need help at anytime, call for me, Henri, and I will come." He said. He picked up a clipboard. "Now I'm off to check the shippings." He smiled and left. I stoood there, anxious to start.  
  
I went and sat behind the desk. It was only seven-fifteen. And someone already walked in the door. 


	6. Meeting Zidler

"Ah hello! Bonjour! Bonjour Mademoiselle!" A cheerful man with unruly orange hair said walking in. I couldn't help but notice that he sort of dance when he walked. His mustache was as long as my arm, I could see. "I don't think I've seen you before." He said, eyeing me. "That's because I just began working here." I said. " Are you here for an order?" I asked him. "Yes. I would like three crates full." I must have looked of stunned, since he said, "for my nightclub. The Moulin Rouge! I'm Harold Zidler." I still looked at him blankly. "Come now, a pretty girl like you must know about me! And I think you'd be a wonderful dancer there! Spin for me!" "I beg your pardon?!?" I asked horrified. "Spin!" I did half a turn. "You can do better than that! Did you ever take dance lessons?" "Yes I did." I said. "I could tell you were graceful." He said. I didn't like the way he was looking at me. He looked at my dress. "That's a very pretty fabric! Blue is such a pretty color on you." "Thank you. I designed it myself." "You did?" He asked. "Yes." "Well, I have a proposition for you, if i buy eight crates of your wonderful wine, will you come down to the Moulin Rouge for an audition?" "An audition for what?" I asked. "Oh, for dancing, for modeling.... for designing costumes..." "Designing costumes?" I asked. "Yes. I can tell you have quite a knack at it. And you are quite beautiful if i may say, and you could well be one of my girls." I was speechless. I had always wanted to be a clothes designer. I had always wanted to have my own boutique in Paris. And this would be the perfect time! I mean, can- can dancers wearing MY designs? I had wanted to design lingerie. I had many ideas. This would be the way to do it. And a dancer? Wow. Living in Paris would be as exciting if not more exciting then I ever imagined! "Well, what do you say...um, what is your name dear?" " Bridget Cummings." I said. "Ah, Scottish are you? That's lovely! Come by at Saturday night at seven! That's when all the fun starts! tata!" He then left. "Wait sir what about-" But he was gone. I then looked down at my tablet. Sure enough, it read "Harold Zidler-Moulin Rouge-eight crates"  
  
The rest of the day went by uneventful. Henri was thrilled about Zidler's order. "He is one of our most valuable customers." He told me. I didn't tell him about Zidler's offer. 


	7. Late Dinner with Giselle

The rest of the week passed uneventful. I heard nothing from Jacques. Perhaps he changed his mind. I got home on Friday night really late. It was nine o'clock! Then, thirty minutes before I got home, Henri told me he needed me to file the orders made in the past month! It took me three hours! When I arrived at the boardinghouse, all the lights were off. I crept in, the kitchen close at 7. I wouldn't eat tonight. I went into my room and opened my satchel. It was made of black lace. I had 12 francs. Enough for a meal. I grabbed the money and headed for the door. About when I was about to touch the knob, someone gently rapped twice. I quickly ran to my bed, pulled down the covers, and jumped in. "Come in." I said quietly. Giselle came in. "I noticed that you weren't at supper. So I saved you some." She opened her napkin to revel a slab of ham, two apples. And a piece of some sort of nut bread." "Thank you!" I said. I began eating and told her of my day. Then I told her all about Zidler's offer. And she said she'd lend me her colored chalks to color in my designs. She began helping me folding and measuring ribbons and bows and immeasurable yards of fabric. We stayed up all night. I was glad she was there to help me.  
  
We stayed up the whole night, drawing and redrawing designs. "I wouldn't mind wearing this!" Giselle said, holding up a sketch of my most elaborate design. It was covered in diamonds, and had a sort of a ringmaster look to it, complete with a top hat. Well, what can I say besides that I can be absurdly creative? It had a huge, gorgeous heart shaped diamond in the center. I was glad that Harold Zidler could see my often too provocative designs. It was to be a very unusual job, and I didn't know quite exactly what he had in mind for me to do. "But nothing is too provococative." he had said in a telegram. "In fact, less is preferred." I'm certain that my grandmother would of had a fit if she knew what I was doing. She didn't even approve of women working outside the home, let alone a nightclub. Giselle eyed me curiously. "Are you wearing a corset?" She asked, looking at my hips. "Um, yes." I said. "Stand up." I obeyed, curious to know why she was so curious. She wrapped her hands around my waist. "My, my, my!" She gasped, "I can almost wrap both of my hands around you! You almost don't need one! You are very fortunate." I laughed. "Wait here, and take off that one, I want you to try another one on." I did, having trouble with it. "Another one?!?" I mumbled, "There isn't any doubt it will be tiny and even more uncomfortable then this one! And it already has cut me in half. Giselle came rushing back. She had in her hands a death contraption. Or, a corset. "This was my sister's. She passed it down to me, but I was too hefty for it." She unlaced it. She motioned for me to stand. When I did, she wrapped around my waist. I immediately felt the breath escape me. She laced it, tight, tighter. I felt as if I were turning blue. "Tight enough?" "MMM "I mumbled. She mumbled and stepped away. My breathing turned back to normal. Then she went to my boudoir, and pulled out a brilliant blue dress. "You should wear this tomorrow night." I laughed. "Yeah, but I'm afraid if I wore it, he'd put me to work right away." I said. "Well, isn't that what you want, millions of little boys goggling at you?" She said batting her eyes. I laughed and threw a pillow at her. "Oh, don't wrinkle it!" She said shielding it, laughing. "Then it's settled. You WILL wear the dress Bridget Cummings. Or else I will come down to the Moulin Rouge and make a fool of myself. I laughed. "I don't think you'd be alone in doing that." I told her. 


End file.
